Week one, week one,
Wouldn’t it be fun?
To run run, go run,
Go ‘round and ‘round a blowgun,
While mixing up the slogan…
It’s all just the same to me, ideally.
Differently,
Caustically,
Physically,
Anachronistically.
Spasmodically,
Sadistically,
Scholastically,
Altruistically.
Gone steadily?
Walked heavily…
Canonically, you’re green with envy,
Neither good nor plenty,
Twenty-two pilots was one too many,
A flight of frenzy.
Frenzy? Fancy-free,
Oh here I be!
Too much rhyming.
End rhyme, sound rhyme,
Slant rhyme, end of time;
Internal rhyme,
Identical rhyme,
Rich rhyme,
Eye rhyme, I rhyme.
And all what for?
To run run,
I do run run run,
I do run run;
Metaphorically,
At least.
Running to the rapture?
Not on this stress fracture.
It’s laid me up for weeks,
Although wonders never cease.
Someone call a priest!
A rabbi, a cardinal,
The Mets.
Religion and baseball,
I don’t know yet.
Sitting on the DL,
While you ell oh ell.
Oh, Snipewriter!
Oh, hell no.
Hello? Whoa.
We’re not good friends,
Not making amends,
You’ve got the bends
When
You plunged the depths
And
You mocked the ends
Since
A means to an end is still,
The End.